


To hold and to keep

by Elisexyz



Series: We could build a house [10]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Canon, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23704561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: “I don’t want you to leave.”
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton
Series: We could build a house [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1425421
Comments: 20
Kudos: 83





	To hold and to keep

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this Tumblr prompt asking for a sickfic](https://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/616125601543241728/would-you-be-ok-with-writing-a-flintham-sickfic), because, as anon says, we all love a good cliché.

Thomas returns, eventually. James couldn’t say with certainty if he’s been gone for an hour or a handful of minutes, as he couldn’t focus long enough to even try to count: all his strength of will was gathered to keep him awake, barely blinking because each time he did his eyelids grew heavier, lying rigidly on the bed in a way that made his muscles ache, keeping him present to the moment.

Every inch of his body prays for rest, but he’s always been stubborn.

Thomas returns, and James can finally draw a sigh of relief, though it gets stuck in his throat, triggering a coughing fit.

The upside to that is that Thomas hurries to his side, a concerned frown on his face and his fingers closing around James’ arm. “I thought we’d agreed that you needed to sleep,” he reprimands, gently.

James is pretty sure that he hasn’t agreed to anything. He _wants_ to sleep, or better, he clearly _needs_ to sleep, since he can barely stand to keep his burning eyes open with his head is pounding like hell, but there is a greater need overcoming that, a voice in the back of his mind reminding him incessantly that if he drifted to sleep he’d awake to find Thomas gone.

It has happened before, more than once — he’d dream of him, he’d be so real that he could feel his _touch_ , and then he’d eventually open his eyes to find Miranda, or to remember that he’d been alone in his cabin, trying to ride out a very inconvenient fever.

“I _can’t_ ,” he croaks out, his fingers searching for Thomas’ hand. Thomas is looking at his face with confusion, so it takes him a moment too long to notice the movement and meet him half-way.

“Why?” he eventually asks, concerned. “Are you cold? I can fetch you another blanket if you —”

James shakes his head, his fingers curling around Thomas’ wrist almost as a reflex. “No, don’t,” he rasps out, maybe a little too pleading, but it’s _Thomas_ , there is no need to pretend like he isn’t falling apart. Everything is alright, and it will stay that way for as long as he can keep Thomas with him.

And if that means that he has to renounce to his much needed sleep — then so be it.

“What’s wrong then?”

Thomas’ gentle question hangs in the air for a few moments, and James grips his wrist a little more tightly, somehow fearing that voicing his concern could only make things worse.

But Thomas keeps staring at him, and he just wants so badly to be reassured that he’s wrong, that it’s all _real_ this time, that it won’t fade away as soon as he’s in the right frame of mind to remember what his life has turned into.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he eventually says, and Thomas looks a little dumbstruck for a moment, but then he breaks into the warmest smile, and something settles in James’ chest almost immediately.

“I have nowhere else to be, my love,” Thomas says, pushing some hair away from James’ forehead. “And nowhere else I _want_ to be either. I promise.”

James knows he means it, but he can still feel that push to _look_ , to stare as intently and for as long as he’ll manage, in anticipation for when the image will slip away.

 _The next time you wake up, he will be gone. Make it last_.

“Alright, come on,” Thomas eventually breaks through his thoughts, pulling away and nudging James into letting go of his wrist – he does it with a whimper of protest, but Thomas’ thumb briefly running over his knuckles reassures him somewhat –, only to come sitting on the bed, in place of the pillow.

As he finds himself with his head on Thomas’ lap, James quickly rolls over, because he can’t _see_ him, which causes a wave of nausea to come over him, making him sew his eyes shut for a moment as he tries to breathe through it.

Thomas begins running his fingers through his hair in soothing motions, once again encouraging him to get some sleep. “I can’t go anywhere with you laying over me like this, can I?” he adds then, a fond smile bubbling at his lips.

James tries to blink away the fog in his eyes, humming his agreement because, well, it sounds reasonable enough, he thinks. And he’s so damn tired.

His fingers find their way to Thomas’ shirt, curling around it tightly, because that might be the best that he can do, under the circumstances, not to let him be taken away. Even with his eyes falling shut, he can still feel his fingers through his hair, his shirt in his fist, his body heat under his cheek.

If this is the last feeling that he gets to keep before everything fades away, then at least it’s a good one.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates comments, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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